Up's the Only Way to Go
by BinkumAndJo
Summary: A snickers story! My first! No longer pure fluff. Nick and Sara have a love that qualifies as 'soul mates' but why does the universe seem determined to make it hard for them? NS
1. Number Ones

**I own nothing... Especial thanks to Alanis Morissette and Pink, whose songs I make a slight mention of.**

**I apologize if it's OOC. Fifty lashes with a wet noodle.**

_"Brown hair. A little taller than me. Nice muscles, not a beefcake, though," she said slowly, rewarded with a chorus of giggles. "He has to be at least fairly intelligent. And a great smile." A thirteen-year-old Sara Sidle finished her confession with a grin, eliciting another round of squeals and giggles from the small but tight-knit group of friends. "Sounds handsome," chimed in Erin, a girl with stringy blonde hair. "Have someone in mind?" She asked, causing her friend to blush a deep crimson. _

"_No, no. Not yet, at least." A short but tough Asian girl named Suzie winked at Sara, "And I guess when you meet him it'll be love at first sight, and he'll sweep you off your feet and you'll spend fifty years together. Be sure to invite us to the wedding." Sara laughed heartily. "Yeah, I guess it does sound pretty stupid. Pass the cookie dough."_

Well, if Sara hadn't had a name for her dream guy then, she certainly did now. She returned to the present quickly, the memory ending as suddenly as it invited itself into consciousness. Willing the wistful smile hat invaded her face to go away, she pulled her coat over her shoulders and walked out of the CSI locker room.

The morning desert air was biting, causing the thirty-something scientist to draw her wool coat closer around her person. "Hey girl," Warrick's deep voice interrupted her bitter thoughts aimed at the weather. "You actually punching out on time today?" His voice contained just a hint of friendly sarcasm. "Yeah, guess so," Sara replied, her retort missing the punch and vigor she usually had a store of. Warrick's easy smile faltered slightly, and he rubbed her shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Ok, then. Keep warm, ya hear?'

As she nodded and retreated to her SUV, he whipped out his cell phone. Punching in a number, he patiently waited for the other line to pick up as he watched Sara's SUV glide out of the parking lot. "Hey man. It's 'Rick. Hate to bother you on your day off, but you know that "perfect opportunity" you were waiting for? It's here."

Arriving at her small rust-colored house, Sara slowly stepped out of the Denali. Bumping the door shut with her hip, she wrinkled her nose, the usual distasteful thoughts about the environmental monstrosity surfacing again. Entering her house, she hit a button on her stereo, releasing strains of 'You Oughta Know' by Alanis Morissette, courtesy a mix Greg made for her. As the song transitioned to 'Like a Pill' by Pink, her doorbell rang. Turning the music down, she answered it, wondering in the back of her mind who could be visiting so late.

Swinging the oak barrier open, she was suddenly aware of her tank top and thin black sweatpants as cold air rushed in. Sara felt her face flush as the rest of her body reacted to the cold. "Nick," she croaked, her voice cracking as her throat constricted with surprise and cold. "Come in," acting on her first instinct, she was glad to discover her voice had normalized. Her Texan co-worker strode inside, glad to be out of the dawn air.

After getting him situated on her couch, Sara frowned. "Grissom didn't call you in, did he? It's your day off! If he did, I'll kill him. I know how to hide the evidence. You've been working hard; you deserve to-" Nick silenced her tirade by raising a hand in protest, softening his interruption with a grin, a dimple digging into his cheek. "Naw, I haven't talked to Gris all day. Warrick was the one who asked me to come over." Sara's brow knotted slightly, not exactly comprehending what he had said. "He told me you sounded a little… down," Nick admitted, hoping he had chosen the least offensive adjective. Her expression, changing from confused to insulted, quickly tipped him off that his efforts had been for naught. She stood abruptly and stormed down the hall to the kitchen. Nick followed her wordlessly, knowing that as she started her next rampage he'd have to wait it out.

"I know you all think I'm some pathetic, debilitated alcoholic who can't work a case worth jack squat, but I do not need you to come over here and tell me that. Furthermore, Mr. Stokes, I'll have you know that Warrick Brown is neither my shrink, my PEAP counselor, nor my mother. Therefore, he as absolutely no right to analyze me, let alone even suggest…" Her words trailed off, all brain cells suddenly distracted by the large hand just above her hip. Whirling around with a question in her eyes, Nick spoke softly.

"He called because he cares. We all do. You're a great CSI, Sara. That's why I love you." Whoops, Nick thought. That certainly constituted letting the cat out of the bag. He had actually intended to say, "That's why _we_ love you," but evidently, his brain had treacherously replaced the collective with the singular. "W-what?" Sara squeaked in a thrown, shocked tone. If he hadn't been in danger of getting his heart smooshed by a 110-pound woman Nick might have found the sound funny.

"I love you," he repeated plainly, favoring the direct approach, as always. In his eyes, he had already spilt the beans. There was no back-pedaling, if he was going to make the worst mistake or best choice of his life, he was going to do his damndest to do it right. Bending his neck slightly to close the five inches of height he had on her, he looked into her eyes, and began a question. "Sara,"

(See bottom of page for long-winded explanation)

His tentative voice was cut off my as set of soft lips landing shyly but deliberately on his. He responded in kind, one of his hands slowly joining its twin on Sara's waist. The pair's first kiss steadily gained momentum, until they gasped for air, lungs battling brain for control. Sara ran a hand through her hair, the other grasping one of Nick's stocky forearms. Nick's body was pressed against hers, if they were any closer, they would be one being. Sliding his hands off her waist, he rested them on the countertop that he was pressing Sara onto. "Well, he grinned, a hint of mischief sneaking into his forever-young eyes. "That was one of the best first kisses I've ever hand."

"Only one of?" Sara asked, uncharacteristic coquettishness sneaking into her speech. She arched her eyebrows and cocked her head as she considered Nick's lips while he replied. "It's on my top ten list." His answer was swift; as was the brain-boggling kiss he stole afterwards. As he broke away, her playful tone matched his. "Which number is it?"

"One."

_(Here, Nick's thoughts are closed to us, the audience. I got annoyed with the way most authors' jump right into all of their character's brains. In reality, we only now the way one person thinks the conversation if going. Us. Anyway, back to the point. I thought I'd leave what Nick's thinking at this moment up to you. Does he regret his admission, or is he glad he got it off his chest? How long has he loved Sara? Is he worried she'll turn him down because she's preoccupied with work or Grissom? What about the question? Is he going for "Do you want me to leave?" or, "Do I even have a chance?" or, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," or "Can't you see I'm twice the man Gil Grissom will ever be?" or "Just to make the readers of this fanfic happy, will you marry me?" Trust me, it wasn't that one. Because I know that each person has an opinion on what Nick should say in this situation, I just decided to shut up. Except I've been yapping constantly. Ok, now could you review the fic, maybe? Please??.)_

**Me again. For the record, this was a plot bunny that distracted me from the W/S fic I'm TRYING to write, but failing (as well as sleeping last night, but who needs sleep?) Props to all my friends who put up with my CSI obsession. Oh, and, I did stop writing 'For Las Vegas' because I COULD NOT get Grissom to stay IC in my head! Gah. **

**This is probably not a WIP, but who knows? I may write a second chapter if I get another bout of snickersitis. Thanks a bunch, reviews mean tons.**


	2. GunShot Residue

**Great, I've made this into a WIP. Curses. Now I have to think of a PLOT! Dangit. I upped the rating only because I'm paranoid, and changed the title because it didn't fit anymore.**

**Caution; This chapter contains slight/moderate Grissom-bashing. Hope you enjoy.**

"Now, see this is why I don't like sci-fi." Warrick's incredulous comment was greeted with several confused glances. "Y'know, they inspire stuff like this!" Accentuating his rather distressed comment with a gesture at Sara and Nick, he was rewarded with chuckles from Catherine, as well as the happy couple.

Much to Sara and Nick's pleasant surprise, the other team members had taken the news of their relationship rather well. Greg was young, he'd recover. Though at the moment his stark white face matched Nick's bed sheets. Warrick, apparently, regretted the fact that he hadn't started a pool earlier, and Catherine simply found the announcement damn funny.

Grissom's reaction was much harder to gauge, however. _Welcome to Gilbert Grissom's head. Please enjoy your stay. _If someone had asked him at that exact moment, he would have responded that, without a doubt, was glad Sara was going to leave him alone, as well as found happiness. But that was bullshit. The parcel of his just under 'Guilt,' alias 'Reality' insisted that he should be feeling regret. No matter how valiant, how self-sacrificing a face he presented to the world, underneath he was nothing more than human.

He was disgusted at his own chauvinism, the twisted enjoyment he got out of knowing he was someone's Holy Grail. But Indiana Jones moved onto the Ark of the Covenant, just like Sara had moved onto Nick. Though he was inwardly ashamed at the subconscious pop-culture reference he had just made, Grissom was determined not to let his distress show. In a movement that looked natural to everyone else, but took all his willpower, he raised a hand to grasp Nick's own.

"Congratulations," he briskly nodded. "If your relationship influences your work, I'll have no choice but to take action," Grissom warned, glad his voice didn't sound strangled or choked on his emotions.

"You got it Gris," Sara guaranteed seriously. True to form, Nick cheekily interjected, "I guess this means no more making out in the locker room." Warrick threw his hands up and took a step back, "Whoa, man, we're getting dangerously close to more details than I need."

The color slowly returning to Greg's face, the young CSI couldn't help a playful tease, "I knew I should have invested in a camera phone. I hear those babies pay for themselves after two months of blackmail."

Grissom's eyes narrowed, and he tossed a small stack of papers onto the metal break room table. "The assignments are there, if you ever get around to working tonight." Embarrassed by his actions even when he was performing them, Grissom turned on his heel and strode angrily out of the break room. Storming into his office, he yanked his glasses off his bearded face, and rubbed the corners of his eye as he collapsed into his chair.

Gil sat alone for about fifteen minutes, trying to decide if he was nursing a migraine or self-pity. About to decide in favor of the latter, he heard a soft knock on his office door. Grabbing a paper and pen, hurriedly donning his glasses, he called out, "Come in," trying to look busy.

Sara entered the fairly large room, and shut the door behind her. "Grissom, we need to talk." Setting the office supplies down, he arched an eyebrow. "I don't see what there is to discuss. You seem very happy with Nick, and as long as you both remain professional about your relationship, there should be no problems."

The slender brunette huffed angrily, inviting herself into one of the chairs in his office. "I don't recall saying the discussion would be about me, or Nick." Grissom blinked once, and suddenly Sara was at his side. Blue eyes met brown, which moments ago had been smoldering with anger and frustration. Now, he only saw playful seduction and flirtatiousness.

"Sara, what-" His words were swiftly halted by lips on his, he responded instinctively, his body performing a hostile takeover on his brain. He pulled her body onto his lap, hands slipping down to untuck her tie-dyed pattern blue and red blouse.

"GIL!" Grissom's eyes flew open, and he found himself staring right at a very, to say the least, pissed Catherine Willows. "Ahem. How can I help you, Catherine?"

"Gil, you've been asleep for almost the entire shift. Warrick and Sara have practically solved the B&E you gave them, and Greg and I had a break in the double homicide, but no one could find you!" The disgruntled russet-haired CSI took a confrontational pose, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

"Oh. I guess I just," Gil waved his hand in an effort to excuse himself. "Well, "just…" Catherine barbed, mimicking his gesture, "Isn't gonna cut it when you practically threatened Nick and Sara about being professionals." Grissom ran a hand through his hair and winced, hitting a tender spot on his frontal lobe. He must have hit his head when he fell asleep. "Sorry Catherine. I guess I'll go find Greg to see what information he has, unless you can just tell me now?"

Her blue eyes glinted in pleasure at being able to divulge key information. "Amy Douglass' one of the victims, DNA was found in Veronica Amos' SUV. According to Taylor Heth, Jason Corr's best friend, our male vic, Jason, was doing some couch time with Veronica, even though Amy's his girlfriend."

Grissom nodded, "Blood?" Catherine grinned. "Nope. Greg'll have to tell you. It's his find." She then turned and sauntered out of his office, feeling much better than she had upon entering. However, her boss was mired in doubts about Sara, Nick, his own feelings, and, as an afterthought the case. 'Ok, here's the plan,' he thought to himself. 'Get the case details from Greg, go home, take a cold shower, but above all, avoid both Sara and Nick.'

**Aww... all you guys that reviewed are so sweet. Nonetheless, I blame YOU for the urge to write this chapter. Wait... maybe that's a good thing. **

**Oh, and the case will probably not be brought up again. It's just a little tangent I sort of went off on.**

**Finally, chapter title is sort of a bad joke of mine. Ok, GSR is Grissom/Sara Romance, right? It's ALSO Gun-Shot Residue. And, because, Sara'spast feelings for Grissom have left their own imprint on both of them. Get it G/S Residue? Grissom/Sara Residue? Oh, I give up. It's bad I know, I know.**


	3. Between Being Broken and Being Fixed

**I apologize for several things;  
1) Taking the owners characters to such OOC levels  
2) The relative shortness of this chapter  
3) Almost kind of borrowing from the "Princess Bride" by S. Morgenstern.  
4) Almost suffocating you guys with fluff**

When Sara showed up at Nick's doorstep she was crying. Three seconds before he registered the fact that her brown eyes were full of sorrow, he wondered how she had found her way here. However, as the biggest real tear he had ever seen rolled down her cheek, Nick felt his heart break.

The humanitarian Texan always felt some sort of empathy for everyone he encountered, but the emotion he felt as Sara stood on his doorway, her frame looking frail, her arms wrapped around herself, made his heart drop to the soles of his feet. "Sar-" he began, praying that nothing had hurt her. She catapulted herself into Nick's arms, where her discreet, rolling tears turned into wracking sobs.

"Don't-don't you worry. I've got you."

Later that day, Nick awoke to a pain in his neck and a weight on his lap. Memory returning, he recalled that he had pulled Sara onto his couch, where she had wept into his chest, explaining brokenly that she had just received word informing her that her older brother and his family had been killed by a car bomb.

_"God, Sara, I'm so, so, sorry." Nick felt like crying himself. The strong woman he fell in love with, reproachful, guarded, had been reduced to something so unlike her. He had grown up with six siblings, all of whom had spouses and at least one child, none of which he could imagine losing. "Nick…" Sara's voice was whispery and dejected, that of a person whom fate has chewed up and spit out. Her shaking hands clutched his gray t-shirt tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping her from flying into the atmosphere. He was suddenly aware of how cold she must be, the realization aided by the fact that her quickly cooling tears doused the entire front of his shirt._

_Maneuvering himself slightly, as not to upset her limp body from where it lay across his lap, he grabbed a blanket off the back of his couch. Securing it around them both, but making sure she was mostly covered, he latched his arms around her protectively, whispering a promise over and over in her ear. "I've always got you, Sara, I love you, I love you." Soon, they had both drifted to sleep, dried tears staining both their faces._

Nick looked down with concern on Sara's sleeping face. Disentangling an arm from her shoulders, he stroked her face with her thumb. "You don't deserve a broken heart, Sara," he whispered slightly, the words not spoken by his brain but his heart. He swore to himself at that moment that he would die before he hurt her, and that he would love her for the rest of his life.

She stirred once, and brown eyes that Nick would have given anything to call "soulful" or "spirited," but instead were sad opened. She smiled at Nick, but it was the kind of smile mourners give when they reminisce about a deceased relative. "It really happened didn't it?" He only nodded, though he ached to lie, to tell her it had all been a dream. "Damn. Did you mean it, though?" She reached a pale hand up to tuck a strand of hair that stayed away from the rest of Nick's walnut crop.

His fight-or-flight, anti-commitment instinct kicked in at that moment, but he nodded again, knowing that she needed him more than she needed anything in the world at that moment. This was the one person he would willingly wake up next to every day for the next fifty years, and he was going to be honest. "Nick… Nicky… I love you. I love you _so much. _You're my best friend, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be my guardian angel."

Propping Sara up a little with his arm, Nick buried his face in her hair. If she ever an idea of half how happy she had made Nick, she would have been blown away. "I'll be here as long as you need me, Sara. I never want you to be hurt again. I do love you."

She pulled away slightly, and he closed his eyes a moment to stem the mist collecting in his eyes. When he opened them, he was staring right into hers. Sara spoke softly, her voice still shaky from a long bout of crying. "Thank you." She wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him lightly, an almost chaste gesture that nonetheless carried every emotion she wanted to convey.

Nick nodded, and returned the kiss lovingly, for the first time in his life knowing that he was exactly where he needed to be. The pair spent the Sunday in each other's arms, trading stories, kisses, "I love yous," and meaningful promises. In each person's life, there is one "love-love." In each lifetime there is one "true love." In each century there is one "destined love." And in one millennia there is one "solar-system rocking, earth-shattering, all-out, meant-to-be, undeniable, smacking you in the face, talked-about-for-hundreds-of-generations-to-come-love." Sara and Nick's kind of love comes along once in an eternity.

**Alright! So, you survived the corniness! How bout dropping me a reveiw? To hear more author babble, read on;**

**This COULD be the end! However, part of me wants to write more. Hmm?  
Oh, this chapter is to everyone who's reviewed my fics!  
Also, partially inspired by the lyrics to 'Bless this Broken Road' by Rascal Flatts, which I checked out after a review mentioned them.  
(Finally, to anyone who's reading'Starting Backwards'- I'm having a LOT of trouble with the sex scene. Bear with me here)(Is that the right use of bear, or am I thinking of a homophone?)**

**RR! Reveiw and you may find a chapter dedicated to you!**


	4. Not Just Number Ones

**Ta-da. I updated! I really don't like this chapter much. It's 100 percent told from Grissom's POV, and it sort of summarizes what happens in about six months of Sara and Nick's relationship. I like the end, though**

**This chapter was entirely written about fifteen minutes before I went to bed on various nights.**

**This chapter contains no Grissom-bashing, but GSR shippers may like it a 'lil, because it suggests that he really has feelings for her. It's still NSR, though.**

Twelve. That was the monthly average of Sara's dazzling grins. Grissom knew this for a fact, he counted. Seven. The days she had taken off to bury her brother. Two. The numbers of time he had actually feared for her life. Of course, he had other numbers that were of interest to him. Fifteen. The number of years between himself and Sara. Ten. The number of years he had known her.

One. The number of secrets she's shared with him. Zero. The number of times he's acted on instinct and admitted his feelings. One hundred thirty-two. The number of hours of sleep he's lost over her this calendar year alone. Thirty-three. The number of trivial details he knew about her. Like that she picked the almonds out of Rocky Road ice cream. Forty-nine. The number of his seminars she had attended while she was in college.

Grissom liked numbers. They were safe. One thing in the universe that didn't alter based on opinion, or politics. If you put the same math problem in front of four million fairly well educated people, they won't come up with four million different answers. Unlike a question like, "Does true love exist," or "Is there a God?" Bugs may be his first love- er, passion, but numbers were his second.

He knew that Sara Sidle was different. That's part of what drew him to her. Polar opposites and all that. She relished the why, and the what ifs of a situation, what made each new experience different. Nick was a good balance for her. He saw the facts the way they were, his professional focus rarely wavering. The subject of his Texan co-worker bought up a host of other numbers.

For example, the number twenty-six. That was the number of Sara's smiles directed at him the month after she returned to work. With that number brought the painful revelation that Nick made her smile more than he could, even when she was devastated. In his usual self-sacrificing way, Grissom martyred any respect he still had for himself by comparing himself to Nick. Thirty-five. The number of weeks they had been dating. Three. The number of times he had even lunch alone with Sara.

God, he felt infinitely stupid. He had tricked himself subconsciously into comparing himself to Nick. That was definitely not fair. For cripes sake, even the places where they had been born were completely opposite. But, mind over matter didn't apply in the depths of Grissom's brain, mainly because the mind _was_ the matter. Sighing heavily, he tapped a pen on the bridge of his nose, facing the fact that he was in for a night of self-torture.

If Grissom hadn't been such a technical person, he'd have complained that it was unfair. Unfairness was for people who assumed that life was supposed to be fair in the first place.Nick was so energetic, whilst he was enigmatic. The young man he refused to refer to as his competitor, mostly because any prize they would be aiming for was already won, was bright and cheery, never say die. Grissom was morbid, negative, Gruesome Grissom.

That stupid little antagonist part of Grissom's brain reminded him that he once had Sara. She had wanted to try to be something better than a soul mate, a mind mate. Just like asking Britney Brunner out in high school, that ship had sailed. Though, Grissom commentated to himself, turning Sara down had been significantly more regretful than neglecting to ask a girl to the Winter Formal.

Thirty-three. The number of years since his first venture into the idea of 'love.' It hadn't worked out well. Obviously. Damnit, Grissom chided himself. Again with the numbers. No matter how fond he had been of the Arabic Numerals, they were certainly turning on him now, the traitors. Numbers had always been his friends, they always made sense. Except when applied to Sara and Nick's relationship. Grissom grunted in annoyance, and threw his pen across his home office.

There they were again, the blasted dancing figures. Sixty-five. Eleven. Nineteen hundred and eighty eight. It was almost funny. He could make them perfectly harmonize when on paper, in a complicated algebraic equation, but you can forget about it when they represented tangible things. One of his math teachers in school had been fond of saying, "Math's a language that everyone can speak." Gil found it suitable, then, that he wasn't very good at speaking anyway.

One. The number of times he had seen Nick and Sara dance together. It had been in the DNA lab. Greg's walkman lay forgotten, a tedious lecture on herpetological forensics blaring at a deafening level, if you were wearing the headphones. Nick had bet Warrick that he could dance to anything. He had won that bet. Twenty. The number of dollars he won from Warrick that day. Six-and-a-half. The number of hours it took Nick and himself to solve the B E they were working. One. The number of secrets Nick had told him that day. Ironically, it influenced him more than the one Sara had told him weeks before. Two. The number of carats in the diamond ring Nick was proposing to Sara with tonight.

**Could this be the end? Yes, it could. Will it be the end? Naw. Leave a review! Oh, and I think I wanted to dedicate this to pick-a-wallflower and gypsy.. something or rather. I don't remember why, you must have reviewed nicely, and I apolgize for forgetting your SN Gypsy Whomever you are, I'm too lazy to check.**

**(One last thing. Ha-ha Amy! BMLYNM! Ha! Sorry. Esoteric joke)**


	5. Panda ring, AKA Pandering

**Lookee here! I updated! Woww... The proposal method is brought to you by my parents. I kid you not. Oh, and for this one, let's pretend that Sara and Nick have, y'know, NORMAL sleeping patterns. Noctural weirdos. (Just kidding, you know I love you)**

**Still own nothing. This goes to Jess, Kevin, Greg, Janie, Steve, and Paula. You guys rule, even if you keep me from writing fan fiction.**

Sara woke up to a tapping. She frowned sharply, trying to figure out why she had been roused from sleep. Yanking her red curtains open once she had determined why she wasn't sleeping any longer, she was face to face with a small pebble flying up to her window, meeting it with a "chlick."

She hauled herself further out of bed, and threw the window open, narrowly dodging another rock. Looking down in annoyance and grogginess, she encountered the sight of a disheveled, white t-shirt-black slack clad Nick Stokes. Just looking at him, Sara could tell that his explanation was going to be a good one. "What are you _doing _here?" She asked, usually patient demeanor shortened by the hour and lack of logic on Nick's part.

"I need to talk to you, Sara baby." Nick said, dangerously close to channeling Marlon Brando in 'A Streetcar Named Desire.'

" 'Sara baby?' Nick, what are you talking about?" Sara ran a hand through her hair, which was caught in a classic case of bed-head. At that moment, she was seriously concerned for his sanity. If he kept this up, he'd be thrown in a mental institution and all the evidence he collected on their serial would be thrown out.

"I love you so much it hurts. It hurts when- because- when I think about not spending the rest of my life with you."

"Nick. I love you too. You know I do!" Sara felt like she was speaking to a six-year-old, rather than the man who had changed, and probably saved, her life. "But you're not making any sense!" Sara rolled her eyes in frustration. Men. "It's 2:30 in the morning. I've got work tomorrow, as do you, and-"

Nick cut off her pseudo lecture, which was slowly gaining momentum by landing so hard on his right knee that Sara though it had given out on him. "Sara Rabelais Sidle, will you marry me?"

Sara coughed once, words refusing to form a single file line to leave her mouth. "Are you _drunk? _Nick, _go home." _She shook her head, exasperated. "You don't know what you're saying. "I'll see you in a few hours, and if I'm late to work because of you.." She trailed off, ending her unfinished threat with a glare. She moved to close her window, by Nick's distressed tone halted her.

"Please, Sara. I need you to know I want to be your husband, want you to be my wife. I want us to make our lives together, maybe had a kid or two? Will you marry me?" The hand Sara had lifted to rub sleep from her eyes froze halfway to it's destination. "Holy… Crap… You're serious."

"Yeah…" Nick grinned a little sheepishly, a little cheekily, "Not to rush your decision or anything, but your front porch is colder than that stare you give Greg, so,"

"Oh!" Sara started, neurons firing and missing their destinations in the recesses of her brain. "Hold on, I'll be down in a second to let you in." She shut the bay windows immediately after she finished speaking, before Nick could say, "If I had a nickel for each time I heard that," and yanked the curtains shut. She turned with her back to the glass, and blinked once.

About four milliseconds later, that picture of serenity in the face of excitement was gone. Sara jumped a foot in the air, emitting squeaks of excitement unwillingly. She flew to her door, her steps three or four of a normal one. She yanked open her door, the still-rational sliver of her mind wincing as it banged the wall behind it.

She jumped into Nick's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as his strong arms held her off the floor, the Texan she had come to call "hers" not thrown by her unexpected motion. She laughed breathlessly exhilarated, and kissed wherever her lips fell, his neck, his chin, his arms, his upper chest.

"So I guess that's a no," Nick laughed as he stepped into her house, taking her with him. She rewarded his cheeky response with a grin and a good-natured slap on the arm. "That's a yes, and you know it, Mr. Stokes."

"Well, Miss. Sidle," Nick's smarmy comeback was aborted by Sara's slender fingers on his lips. "That's the future Mrs. Stokes to you, sir." Nick's eyes glinted with a variety of intense emotion. He had sort of assumed that neo-feminist Sara would, at the most, hyphenate her name. However, looking into her eyes, he realized he wouldn't care whatever her name was, because he loved her.

He adjusted his slowly tiring shoulders, and then quickly realized it was a mistake. He and Sara, in about nine months of a relationship, hadn't had sex. They had discussed it once; both agreed it was open, a definite possibility, but they didn't need it to have a meaningful relationship. Even when roused from a less than innocent dream, filled with determination to take that last step with Sara, when he heard her voice over his phone, his lust was immediately sated.

But standing in Sara's living room, 300 feet from her bedroom, three seconds after her agreeing to be his wife, the fact that their bodies were pressed close together was doing nothing for chasteness. She grinned widely and nodded when he reclined his head to hers, whispering lowly, "You make me so happy Sare. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, you know that, right?" she slid slowly out of his arms, and as her feet touched the floor, he added, "Except a stuffed panda I had in kindergarten."

Sara gasped in mock indignation. "Well, I never! And to think, I was about to sleep with you."

"Oh, you were? In that case, you definitely outrank Billy Panda." Sara laughed, the sound making Nick's ears tingle with happiness, as she grabbed his hand. "I'll show you I can take down a panda any day." She winked, and as Sara led him to her bedroom, he barely had enough time to worry about a future euphemism, when Sara turned. "You do know that that's your pet name now, right?" Nick rolled his eyes and grinned, then bounded towards her and laughed with her as he scooped her into his arms. "Wouldn't expect any less." As Nick carried her slight form to her bedroom, any more playful dialogue was stifled by a steamy kiss.

**I had this written for like a week, just not in the computer. And Starting Backwards is almost ready to type up. I just have WAY too much to do. There are.. lemme count... three days till opening night. Whoa. Anyway! Read and review to make me smile! Smiling authors remember to post!**


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